


Looking for Today

by Akichin



Category: Bandom, Metallica
Genre: 2000s, Angst, Arguing, Complicated Relationships, Dialogue Heavy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings, Homophobic Language, Inaccuracies, Insecurity, Introspection, Lies, M/M, Melancholy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Swearing, They all are bad at feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2019-10-29 22:59:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17817152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akichin/pseuds/Akichin
Summary: [...]"And I’m sorry.”After those words, their conversation suddenly took a bad turn, with Kirk’s voice trembling in despair, followed by a thin, almost imperceptible hiccup; he wasn’t crying, he'd never do it in front of Jason, but he surely was on the edge of losing control.“Why?”“I witnessed what you’ve been enduring with us. And it’s true that Lars, James and I aren’t the same anymore. Probably something changed among us after Cliff’s death, but we could have treated you better, I could have said something, anything.”





	1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> Hey.  
> Just a couple of things first (and a couple at the end too):  
> 1) this is my first fic about Metallica, so have mercy  
> 2) this is also the first time I wrote a multi-chapter story completely in the past sense, so sorry if I made a mess.  
> (no, English isn't my first language.)  
> 3) This is obviously set before Jason left the band, they're not engaged here. (Sorry Lani lol.)
> 
> Enjoy.

  _The pain begins to eat your pride_  
_You can’t believe_  
_in anything you knew_  
_When was the last time that you cried_  
**Black Sabbath – Looking for Today**

  
  
Jason woke up at first light, observing vaguely the white ceiling on his head.  
San Francisco was already alive with the shy chatter of its citizens in the streets, some crazy klaxon sound in the background and with, as usual, the melancholic view of the shaking ships in its bay.  
But Jason didn’t move from his bed, sinking into the mattress as if it’d be a good way to escape from the heavy thoughts in his mind.  
He tried in vain to make them vanish as one of those recurrent nightmares of his, but the bad omen had followed him in daylight too, persistent and ominous, sneaking in the remotest, intimate space of his brain since weeks.  
No place to hide, even if the night was over, neither hope in the amber ragged clouds nor in the pinkish horizon of the Golden city.  
He felt violated, disillusioned by the reality outside the window: everything was carrying on at a slow, yet steady pace.  
It was the entire world that was carrying on, however, a part of him, the one that made him feel a bit egocentric and fierce, didn’t want to be left behind.  
He was tougher than all the shit he’d been experiencing for the last months, _maybe years_ of his life - that’s what he was telling himself, as a legitimate attempt to self-consolation.  
And he knew it all along, he knew the day would come, sooner or later, like one of those moments when life slaps you directly in the face, no compromise or pleasantries, leaving a sense of stiffness on the cheeks.  
But he tried, anyway.  
Jason bottled up all the grief, the anger, the delusion, creating something productive from the destructive chaos that tighten his chest for too long.  
He chose silence instead of pointless arguing, he followed his love for music instead of giving up to resentment and loneliness.  
But even the thickest skin has its flaws, and now his Achilles’ heel was asking for the salty, yet already announced bill.  
A foretold end, finding himself at a treacherous crossroads: he knew what he’d been, but the future ahead was a secret, a leap in the dark.  
Torn apart by his own instinct, he was feeling that this anonymous morning was the right occasion to make a step forward, no more overthinking or indecision dictated by his shaky, inner voice.  
The same inner voice who had already put him in that mystifying situation - divided between self-love and eternal gratitude.  
And even though his pride was partly hurt by it, there was an irrefutable truth, a deep-rooted conviction in his soul.  
No matter what: _Jason was part of Metallica. Jason loved Metallica_ , and this, probably, would never change.  
  
  
So, he decided to get up, already tired and a bit unmotivated, leaving the warm comfort of his bed behind.  
He turned back only once, undecided, but the view of those messy sheets brought up so many pleasant memories he didn’t want to worry about now.  
_They still had his smell - cigars and sex_ , what an unquiet feeling.  
The very thought of them asleep side by side turned his stomach. It was already obvious that he’d miss those nights.  
He’d miss a lot of things experienced with all of them, but that was his life, a brand new year was waiting with new priorities too.  
  
To fight back the macabre silence, he turned on the TV, watching absently the news.  
He just needed something, a background noise, the formal chatter of the presenters; a something to make the sense of heaviness fade away, but then, the news of a new mass murder - for the umpteenth time in the same month - just made him feel an egoistic idiot.  
Again, the world was carrying on in its crooked way, with seven deaths probably fated to be forgotten by the general public after a couple of years, but he, _Jason fucking Newsted_ , was drowning like a child in his self-pity there, standing in the centre of his apartment.  
The same flat that had never seemed so empty, big and, at the same time, so damn stifling; it was like the walls were crushing him slowly, tearing down all the last, few certainties he’d built to protect himself from the upcoming delusion.  
And he escaped again, rushing in the bathroom as if a shower would be enough to wash away the vexatious sense of paranoid.  
But it was already there, creeping on him, crawling on the glass panels, under skin, like a loyal companion in times of extreme solitude.  
He rubbed his body head to toe, every inch of flesh, every lock of hair, savouring the fruity smell of the shower gel all around the cabin.  
_It was Kirk’s._ As well as the disposable razor, the comb on the sink and the toothbrush close to his.  
_All Kirk’s._ He’d been leaving hints of himself everywhere for a long time. It was their thing - a level of intimacy beyond their jobs, built after years of pointless and emotionless fuck.  
Jason didn’t even remember when their story flourished. It just happened, perhaps several years ago, back in the 80s, when they were young.  
And rather than restraining whatever they felt for each other, they had followed the puerile steam of lust, longing for every lonely night together like a couple of horny teenagers who had discovered the pleasures of sex for the first time.  
But it wasn’t just about sex, that was the problem. They started to enjoy each other’s company away from squeaky mattresses and improvised refuges.  
Kirk had been an unusual guy back then, and he still was an atypical man, but no sentimental memories could erase the imminent collapse they had to deal with.  
Jason tried to find the right words, some half-truths to prevent useless, thorny conversations; and while a cold gust of wind was making his bones tremble, his head was lost again in a state of nervous uncertainty.  
He had to tell him soon: it was over, not necessarily their relationship, or in whatever way they wanted to call it.  
_It was over with Metallica, period._  
And Kirk needed to know.  
  

✤✤✤

  
The band was already falling apart and it was written there, so obvious, on Kirk’s face.  
Jason was welcomed with a weary smile, but was treated with kindness; that was normal, after all, because Kirk had always been the friendliest in the group. Not only with Jason, even if there was a kind of special treatment between the two of them.  
But no, he was cordial with Lars and James too, bearing with their intrinsic and toxic machismo, their unlimited ego and all their bickering over stupid things.  
Jason had never understood how it was possible, after so many years under pressure, to put up with those fucked behaviours of them. Ironically, he had experienced them too, especially in the beginning.  
Back then, Cliff’s ghost wandered over their heads, the moment of his death as a fresh, indelible memory, and Jason, as a fan, shared the same sense of despair and grief, he really did, but they weren’t sympathetic with him.  
But he told himself that it was ok - he was a man, it was the past and he made it out alive, even stronger than before.  
He didn’t cry a river, that was a weakness never contemplated in his mind, yet, he had an ego too and his inner voice was the one that was telling him to leave it all behind.  
To be honest, he wished for a final option, an alternative choice before it was too late, and a part of him, placid in his own head, was wondering if Kirk could help him persuade the others about his side-project.  
A risky move, especially because James wasn’t keen on compromises and he had already made himself clear about the issue.  
_But Jason needed it_ , that kind of creative freedom, the liberty to experiment something different; that didn’t mean, of course, that he wanted to get rid of Metallica, of what they built together.  
Yet, he wasn’t buying James’ bullshit about being in this together, that the band needed a sense of unity that, contrariwise, had never existed among them.  
Jason wasn’t a vengeful person nor an arsehole who wrote down every bad moves they did to him, but neither he did forget what happened during their first tours and the damned And Justice for all.  
That was the worst. _Being erased as if he was nothing_. It still hurt, even after many years.  
  
  
“‘Morning, Jase,” Kirk finally said, leaning against the door jamb. He was still wearing his pyjamas, nothing more than a pair of loose pants and some horror-ish designs on his t-shirt.  
  
“Did I wake you up?” Too late to ask, but even if Jason was feeling a bit sorry, it was already 11 a.m. and, anyway, Kirk didn’t seem particularly annoyed; actually, he rarely seemed angry.  
Sometimes his infinite patience was enervating, but still better than the other two fake alpha men.  
  
“Don’t worry,” he giggled a little, rubbing his sleepy eyes. “I had to leave the bed anyway.”  
There was a veil of delicate sarcasm in those words, one of the usual Kirk’s ways to hide something worse behind an ironic façade - deep troubles, thoughts that probably didn’t make him sleep at night.  
Jason knew the feeling too well, but it was different, now, to see how destructive and rotten some worries could be for a person.  
And he also knew that Kirk had experienced shittier things in the past, that he wasn’t pliant, on the contrary, he was more stubborn than others thought. However, Jason couldn’t bear seeing him so exhausted, it was more harsh to witness the disquietude of someone else, especially if they didn’t deserve it.  
  
“Should I order something from that shit-veggy place you love to eat at? I can make a call.”  
He had always been bad at comforting people, he wasn’t an apathetic ass, but finding the right word to make someone happier wasn’t exactly his speciality.  
But again, _Kirk was Kirk_ \- he had been knowing him for years, even if his interest in Eastern philosophies and all the other mind blowing things was kind of new.  
Jason was a bit more pragmatic, however he never got tired of his mumbling about self-control, harmony and inner peace.  
There had always been something mesmerising in those behaviours of his, his quietude, his acceptance of the inevitable course of life.  
He probably foresaw the bad path that the band had taken, but he didn’t give up yet. Admirable. That was really admirable.  
  
“Really, Jason?” Kirk murmured suspiciously, knowing how much he liked to make jokes about vegan dishes and carnists’ ideas.  
  
“Deal. I can eat a super dry, tasteless salad once in a while.”  
  
“Come on, man. It’s good for your health, you know.”  
A smile stole across Kirk’s face, a mix of irony and true concern, and Jason shook his head in response, failing to restrain a sardonic remark.  
  
“Mr. Hammett worries about me. That’s cute.”  
Before getting in the living room, they shared a tender, yet brief kiss - it tasted of peppermint and that reminded him all the things he’d have lost after his own departure.  
It had to be done, but a part of him didn’t stop to believe - they still could make it work, even with him out of Metallica.  
  
  
They waited until noon, interrupting their casual conversation only when the delivery guy rang nervously the doorbell.  
After that, Jason really tried to enjoy his salad - called _Yam Khai Dao_ or something like that -, but his growing sense of paranoid made it taste insipid; at least, the silence between them became more comfortable after one or two bitter beers, preparing both for the next, inexorable talk.  
He’d been thinking about it since he left his house in the morning; the good weather helped, even if there was something intrinsically melancholic in the view of San Francisco during the first weeks of January.  
And he didn’t believe at all in New Year’s resolutions and other stupid pledges; he was, in fact, the same person he left behind the previous year and the year before.  
Maybe he was getting too old or probably he was used to that numb feeling, and that was what scared him the most.  
He knew he could still give more with his music, and he hoped that Kirk could understand his decision.  
Or rather, he was sure that Kirk could understand that feeling; after all, he was a great musician, Jason undoubtedly respected him for his career and time hadn’t changed their mutual admiration.  
However, in a way, that made things harder: losing a band was tough, but endurable; conversely, losing the trust of someone he loved? _Catastrophic._  
And Kirk had every reasons to tell him to fuck off, to call him names or to treat him like some kind of twisted traitor, but Jason had already valued the risks and no compromises could be accepted without a good offer from the other part.  
The problem wasn’t Kirk Hammett anyway; James was the real obstacle.  
  
“I’ve been thinking a lot in the last few days.”  
His voice trembled slightly, an almost imperceptible sign of weakness that he tried to hide with an ashamed cough, but Kirk wasn’t stupid and he knew when Jason was lying.  
There was always a something on his face when he tried to tell lies; a hit of hesitation or fear, Jason still didn’t catch that part of himself and being so exposed to the other made him quiet angry, not with Kirk per se, but with his own self.  
He’d always been straightforward, but the perennial state of torpor among the band’s members made all seem extremely dull and apathetic.  
  
“I know, it’s written all over your face.”  
A soft chuckle escaped from Kirk’s lips and Jason didn’t know whether to take it as a compliment or not.  
  
“You know me too much, Kirk.”  
He replied, quiet on the defensive, almost irritate. He regretted it a few seconds later, but the guitarist didn’t seem impressed.  
There was really a sense of obviousness, of familiarity between them.  
  
“And you should know that it’s okay to tell me whatever you have in mind.”  
  
“It’s about the band, about the issue I had with James a few weeks ago.”  
And Jason saw it exactly there, on his face, a glimpse of trepidation in those eyes of his; a delusional expression that killed their appetite, but they didn’t leave the half-finished dishes yet.  
Only the creaky sound of the cutlery against the plates echoed in the room, followed by a resigned sigh.  
  
“You’re going to leave us, right?”  
“I...not you, I don’t mean in that way.”  
  
Kirk gave a pregnant pause before sighing again and running a hand through his hair; Jason tried to decipher his expression: not anger nor pure sadness; it seemed that his departure was expected, something that they’d been waiting for a long time.  
And he didn’t know how he was supposed to feel: grateful for being understood or annoyed because his displeasure had always been so evident?  
  
“You’re not wrong, to be honest, I can relate.”  
“But?”  
Jason could feel them, those other words Kirk was trying to refrain, exactly there on his lips; typical of him, a tense mix of friendly courtesy and lack of bluntness.  
Kirk was probably trying to avoid the umpteenth drama within the band and Jason understood his efforts, he really did, but that wouldn’t have made any difference now.  
It was something already written, the band was failing apart right in front of their eyes, but that wasn’t the reason why Jason was quitting; he wasn’t a prick who loved the idea of leaving his mates in their own troubles. Contrariwise, they didn’t have to deal with his issues, in addition to all the other problems.  
It was the best option for all, at least, so it seemed.  
  
“I don’t want to put an end to Metallica, you know, this is what I’ve always been.”  
  
“Metallica won’t stop here. You’ve survived worse.”  
He whispered without hesitation nor indecision; he may have had doubts during his stay in the group, moments in the past when he had endured the pressure of being constantly targeted by Lars and James’ jokes, but no big deal.  
And yes, they’d never told him sorry for those stupid pranks, for the derogative words or for his bass turned down, but now he was okay, _wasn’t he?_  
  
“ _We’ve_ survived worse,” Kirk corrected him with a comforting, little smile that disappeared a few seconds later.  
“If so, why leaving?” No hint of accusation in his voice, only genuine concern, as if, probably, a part of him was still hoping for a change.  
  
“I don’t want exactly to leave now, but you know James better than me.”  
It was the first time Jason said it out loud, no more a simple thought in his mind; his trust for Kirk was speaking for him, an indirect way to tell the other that he still wanted to belong to the band, but it wasn’t his choice any more. Or better, _it never was._  
“And I’ve been having injuries for a while anyway, I should slow down a little. Getting old sucks.”  
He commented sarcastically, watching how Kirk was trying to restrain a laugh, but then a shy smile spread across his face.  
_He had always looked prettier while smiling_ , Jason thought.  
  
“This is because you never listen to me; eat well, sleep well,” he replied, cleaning the table. “But jokes aside, I know your health is only an excuse.”  
  
“It’s not an excuse.”  
_Or was it?_  
  
“It is, Jase. And I’m sorry.”  
After those words, their conversation suddenly took a bad turn, with Kirk’s voice trembling in despair, followed by a thin, almost imperceptible hiccup; he wasn’t crying, he'd never do it in front of Jason, but he surely was on the edge of losing control.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I witnessed what you’ve been enduring with us. And it’s true that Lars, James and I aren’t the same anymore. Probably something changed among us after Cliff’s death, but we could have treated you better, I could have said something, anything.”  
  
“Don’t start with this bullshit now, you did nothing.”  
_And perhaps that was the problem_ \- they both thought silently.  
All the times he spent in silence, the times when he could have intervened, stepping into their arguing. But Jason knew, he didn’t get there to make him feel guilty, to rehash their common past and all the useless ' _what ifs_ ' of those moments.  
In the end, what happened was unchangeable, immutable, something they had to live with for the rest of their lives.  
“And if this is what you want to hear, look, I might have been disappointed by your indifference back then, but we were kids, Kirk, I can’t - I don’t want to cry over spilt milk forever. And as I said before, the problem isn’t between you and me.”  
That was the end of the discussion, no matter what would happen next, and a part of Jason already knew what was waiting for him: neither Lars nor James, as much as he respected them, were indulgent like Kirk was.  
It was a fact, an undebatable fact, and he was used to their stubbornness; but the troubles always started when a couple of hotheads met another obstinate ass; and, spoiler alert: _it never ended well._  
  
  
“Ok,” the silence was interrupted by Kirk’s whisper, sinking in the chair closer to Jason’s. “But I meant what I said. We can fix it, I’m sure that they’re going to appreciate your project. Especially James, deep down he’s just a softie.”  
The words were followed by his usual attempts to cheer Jason up, who just gave up his stoic façade and melt under the soft caresses and kisses of the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to quote the song "Looking for Today" from the album Sabbath Bloody Sabbath because Jason in an interview said that it's one of his fav records. (It's a masterpiece, really).
> 
> The mass murders quoted in the chapter *sigh* are: the Lex Street massacre (Pennsylvania) and the Wakefield massacre (Massachusetts), both in December 2000.


	2. Chapter II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We know it all Kirk, James and I,” it was just a whisper that brushed quietly his ears, making him shiver again. “And I don’t care if you let him fuck you, if you love each other or what. I won’t lose our band over his pride. And I don’t want to lose our bassist either, but he should help us more.”

The year started badly.  
Not that Kirk was expecting something good, but again, the year really started badly. He didn’t even know why, if it was karmic retribution or just a succession of personal wrong choices, but he knew that self-victimisation wouldn’t do him no good. He’d even been skipping his daily yoga classes since the beginning of the week and it was already Thursday, one of the slowest and laziest days he’d ever experienced in his entire life.  
And he was just resting for the whole afternoon, there, half sleepy on his couch, while in the TV screen Danny Torrance rode his trycicle to room 237. From the audio system the creepy sound echoed within the walls, all over the living room, but Kirk wasn’t really paying attention to the movie, busy with the cup of vata tea he was holding in his hands. The aromatic steam should have made him feel better, but the faint scent of cinnamon, ginger and liquorice wasn’t really useful and, to make matters worse, the sweet taste that moistened his lips made his head spinning, followed by an unusual feeling of solitude.  
  
How should he had interpreted that sense of vacuity, of complete emptiness?  
He was no stranger to it, yet he cannot but shudder at the thought of what he had to face, while in his head, peace was nowhere to find, only myriad of different voices and opinions were travelling loudly around. He just kept replaying it all over again in his mind - _that day_ , with every detail of Jason’s face while they were talking, the way he had rolled his eyes slightly, annoyed yet not wrathful; the silent delusion in his eyes, blue ice irides that made his gaze unexpectedly cold and apathetic.  
It was typical from him when he was upset, and now that Kirk was thinking about their conversation again, he came to the conclusion that Jason wasn’t happy, _he wasn’t happy at all._  
  
And Kirk knew that it was a banal thing to say now, but he had underestimated Jason’s feeling of displeasure before, actually he had been underestimating his feelings for years and he didn’t want to make the same mistakes again and again.  
He wanted to learn from the past, he really desired to fix it before it was too late, because he had never stopped to long for a peaceful balance within the band; and yes, probably it was one of his many soppy illusions, but Metallica was everything he’d always had and, as a family, he had to make it work. He accepted the arguing, that was normal among a group of persons who knew each other so much, however, that was clearly something different in this case and that made him worried.  
  
It was the issue that made him feel torn between his rationality and his feelings for Jason.  
A part of him, honestly, knew that in no case he would picked Jason over Metallica, simply because their relationship had never been official in any way, contrariwise, they had lived a period of their past when they weren’t much more than fuck-buddies. They had always loved someone else, had lived with someone else too, and Kirk was inclined to think that things between them wouldn’t have been better in the future. In his mind there wasn’t space for a vague possibility of them together under the same roof or with an expensive ring on their fingers, _not that he didn’t hope for it_ , but sometimes Jason was just...absent.  
  
As if their trust for each other wasn’t so established as they might have thought.  
As if they had been living in two separate, opposite universes.  
  
But at the same time, Kirk craved for them - for the days they spent together, for all the times Jason had stood up for him, even if that meant to fight against James and Lars’ ego.  
And yes, it was true that Kirk had always preferred silences instead of childish bickering, but knowing that Jason was there for him – _he had always been there for him_ -, had sparked off something in his mind. He didn’t exactly remember when it happened, but he knew that from that imprecise point their relationship changed. It wasn’t only about sex anymore, but something deeper had flourished between them; initially expressed through randomness laughs, then with their first non-sexual touches, ignoring the fact that there wasn’t anything virile about late night caresses and morning kisses.  
Just the memory of it gave him goosebumps.  
  
And now the matter wasn’t about their love.  
It was just common sense and Kirk didn’t agree with James’ ideas against the side-project-issue; it wasn’t important right now, not in a period when Metallica was on an indefinite break and Jason had every right to spend his creativity in something different. That didn’t mean that he didn’t love the band as much as the others or that he was betraying them.  
Kirk wasn’t feeling betrayed, but he knew - _oh, he clearly knew_ \- this was his only possibility to show Jason that he was there for him, that he was supportive of whatever he had decided to do. And he was sympathetic not only because he loved him, but simply because he was a musician too and those needs were understandable. Kirk didn’t want to make him live forever in Cliff’s shadow; nothing could brought the old friend back, and Jason deserved more than their professional indifference.  
They had to, as a mark of respect after what they made him bear the years before; they were no more kids and finding a compromise was the right thing to do for everyone.  
  
That was his final decision, no place for afterthought or insecurities.  
  
  
But then his phone rang, the soft tune reverberated in the living room one, two, three times, like a blurred mantra; he stood still, his legs uncontrollably trembling in fear. Whoever it was on the end of the line, the call wasn’t a sign of good news.  
Maybe Jason was calling to end it definitely, he hoped not, but the idea of facing James or Lars now was scaring him the most.  
They probably didn’t know anything yet and Kirk was still unprepared to talk about this, but a part of him knew that it was inevitable, running away from their problems wouldn’t have resolved the situation.  
  
So he brought the receiver near to his ear, clutching it as if it could help to slow down his rampant heartbeat.  
  
“Who’s speaking?”  
  
Silence, followed by a brief sigh.  
  
“It’s me.”  
Lars.  
 

* * *

 

  
He arrived half an hour later, the sound of the car engine near the entrance and his face there, as soon as Kirk opened the door.  
Lars seemed unusually quiet and Kirk didn’t know if it was a good thing or not. He didn’t know because Lars was intrinsically an eclectic person, not only for his various hobbies, but his personality too, was indecipherable. He was the kind of man who seemed impressed and annoyed at the same time, a rational artist, yet easy to upset. They were different, but Kirk had always considered him a good friend, for better or worse, because they both knew each other perfectly and there wasn’t place for shame or lies in their friendship.  
  
Or, at least, that was their unspoken, golden rule.  
  
Lars’ middle name was aggressiveness and sometimes he surely was a bitchy attention-seeker, but lying wasn’t his thing, he had always preferred to speak out loud, to find a confrontation, and this might had help him to understand when Kirk or others tried to hide things from him.  
  
“Ohi, you look like hell, man.”  
  
Lars pat him on the shoulder and barged though the door without asking; it was always like that, Kirk was used to it by now.  
  
“Well, hello to you too.”  
  
“You seemed depressed on the phone, everything is alright?”  
  
Kirk observed him suspiciously, following every move of his around the house: he touched a couple of toys from his collection, waiting for a reply that didn’t arrive soon.  
There was just silence, some random voices in the background and nothing more than Kirk’s heavy and inpatient breath.  
  
“Yes, I’m cool. What about you, Lars?”  
  
With Lars it was always about himself, _I, me, my_ \- his narcissistic behaviour wasn’t something he did to make Kirk feel bad, but he was like that by nature. More a talker than a good listener, and that was okay because Kirk really didn’t feel to talk about anything right now. Listening to his ranting wasn’t therapeutic, but always better than sinking in his own self-pity surrounded by silence.  
  
“Umh, not bad. You know, Myles can’t shut up a second, but he’s doing fine.”  
  
“He’s your son, he inherited that from you.”  
  
Kirk joked, but there was a kernel of truth in those words; however, it was surprising to hear Lars speaking about his family, especially considering the rough time the band was going through. The drummer probably had found a way to escape from the stress and Kirk was happy for him, he really was, because Lars definitely needed some time off. As everyone in the band, actually.  
  
“Thanks, you’re always kind to me,” Lars replied, faking a smile that made him giggle. “Anyway, how do you fell about what I told you?”  
  
Kirk just breathed in slowly, keeping his lungs full of air until he couldn’t take anymore; he gave up to a tired sigh, letting himself fall on the first free chair he found. Then he curled up like a baby, resting his chin on his own knees and his eyes half-hidden behind unruly curls; one of his guitars was silently judging him, there, on the other side of the room. He didn’t even remember the last time he strummed a bit, isolating himself from the world, only him and his music.  
And he knew how much it helped him to feel better, but now everything had become an obligation, _almost a burden._  
  
“I don’t know, Lars,” he whispered, trying not to betray himself on this. “For me it’s always okay to do therapy together, since we clearly need it.”  
  
Honestly, he hadn’t had much time to think about it and neither he really cared; on the other hand, it was something that the band had been considering for a while now, nothing that he wasn’t expecting. However, things had been more complicated in these last weeks and Lars’ question wasn’t so innocuous anymore.  
  
“But?”  
  
A sense of déjà-vu lingered in the air, it made Kirk feel a little dizzy, but he tried to restrain his nervousness with a perfectly bland tone of his voice.  
  
“I don’t think Jason will be excited about it.”  
  
Just saying his name made him shiver and flush slightly as if an invisible, warm whiff of wind was pinching his cheeks. It was already written over there, on his own face, how his previous faked coldness was now swept away by a childish feeling; he didn’t even know why he was blushing, but Lars noticed that and it wasn’t a good sign at all. Their eyes silently met halfway through the room and it was enough, _absolutely enough,_ to understand what they were thinking, no need for redundant words or useless explanations.  
  
“I’m tired of his petulance, tired of his shit, why can he just give us a hand for once? One focking time, I’m not asking for more.”  
  
Lars slammed his fist on the table and the sound echoed through the quiet afternoon, interrupted only by Kirk’s soft breathing.  
  
“He had already done that,” he murmured, more unsure than he mean to. “We both know that he had already gave us a hand, but probably we were too much blind to see his efforts.”  
  
Blinded by their own indifference, stupidity and that sense of rage and loneliness that they never had left behind after Cliff’s death.  
_Jason was a victim of the events, perhaps the right person at the wrong moment._  
Kirk wondered what could have changed their twisted situation, but there wasn’t a good solution for them out there. And Jason was right again: _their past was unchangeable and the future an imponderable mystery._  
  
“What do you mean with that?”  
  
Lars asked and Kirk was already waiting for that question. A legitimate doubt, something that Lars needed to know, since he was part of the band too. But Kirk was hesitant, insecure about what things could he said and what should have been a secret. It was Jason’s choice, _Jason’s life_ , and probably he needed time, more time to discuss the issue with Lars, as he did with Kirk a week before.  
He knew how difficult it was to talk about it, the fear of seeing everything shattered apart before their eyes, and Kirk was feeling sorry, guilty because he had never been good at keeping secrets from Lars.  
They were bandmates, friends, companions! He couldn’t betray their mutual trust, in spite of his strong feelings towards Jason.  
  
So, his eyelashes fluttered, hiding an ashamed gaze under his lids; he hadn’t the courage to open his eyes again to see how Lars was watching at him, curious yet mad. Kirk could feel it though he was surrounded by an interminable deep black void, he could feel Lars’ expectations and his delusion.  
  
_One, two, three seconds_ \- a silence stretched to infinity, followed by a mix of emotions that he didn’t want to face right now.  
  
“He wants to...he’s planning to quit.”  
  
“He what?!”  
  
Lars slammed his hand on the table again and again, gripped by wild anger, a fury that Kirk had already experienced in the past; a familiar picture of human misery there, in front of him, with a irate Lars that now was walking back and forth across the room. He was whining, turbulent and hysterical, mumbling a mix of words that Kirk couldn’t even catch - probably some insults and swearing in danish.  
  
“He can’t focking leave the band,” he almost screamed, with his hands through his hair. “Oh my, Kirk, he can’t focking leave the band now. But why! Why he didn’t tell me shit, damn _røvhul_.”  
  
And Kirk cannot help but smile, smile stupidly, trying to restrain a laugh because he was a good friend and laughing shamelessly at Lars’ desperation wasn’t exactly the best way to show him support. He didn’t even know what was funny about it, probably he couldn’t take the drama anymore and his own reaction was the only thing left to avoid a nervous breakdown.  
  
“Really, do you find it hilarious? How long?”  
  
“How long what?”  
  
Kirk asked back, hiding another shy smile behind his palm.  
  
“How long have you known about it? When was the last time you spoke to him?”  
  
_Shit._ Kirk thought first. _Oh Shit_. He thought again.  
How many days had already been since their last meeting? Time flew by quickly, faster than Kirk could even believe. It was already more than a week, _seven bloody days_ , and here he was, laughing while Lars was surely getting ready for a harsh argument with him. And they both how much Kirk hated to argue, he didn’t like the yelling, the useless screams, the gratuitous offence. He’d known the feeling since he was a boy, with their parents at home, in a place where he was supposed to feel safe. He remembered how pointless it was to beg them to stop, and now he couldn’t accept lightly an argument within _these_ walls, within _his_ house.  
  
Lars’ anger was understandable, but his methods...he yielded to his own bad energy too easily, preferring a futile furore instead of something more constructive. And Kirk hated seeing him like that, seeing how his cleverness was getting eaten by that widespread sense of exasperation in the band. None of them deserved it, not after all they did to make it to the top. They were better than this, Kirk was sure of it, they were no slouches nor Lady Luck routinely shone on them. Contrariwise, they had made it through times harder than this.  
  
“Does it really make a difference now?”  
  
Kirk finally spoke, hiding in vain the trembling of his voice; yet he watched Lars in the eyes, unmovable, losing himself in that gaze of his. There were so many emotions in there, but the delusion was what hurt Kirk the most. For him, it wasn’t a betrayal nor taking sides, they were together, no need for a bitter feud. But Lars...Lars couldn’t move on.  
  
“So, that’s how it works between you and him.”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m saying that he is-”  
  
“We know it all Kirk, James and I,” it was just a whisper that brushed quietly his ears, making him shiver again. “And I don’t care if you let him fuck you, if you love each other or what. I won’t lose our band over his pride. And I don’t want to lose our bassist either, but he should help us more.”  
  
And Kirk didn’t reply back, sinking more and more into the chair, trying stupidly to disappear as none of this was really happening. He felt something, shame or sadness, he didn’t even know; something that loomed over his last certainties, and he cannot help but wonder if there was a deeper meaning in all this, a reason he wasn’t catching, maybe too blinded by his need of positivity, even in places where nothing existed, except the stark, unfriendly reality.  
_Was it a challenge he was going to lose? Or rather, was it even something he could fight for?_  
  
He hadn’t answers for it anymore.  
  
“It doesn’t matter,” Kirk confessed, at last. “Whatever’s going on between us. It’s not me and Jason versus you, Lars.”  
  
“No,” the drummer replied back, probably ready to walk out. “But it matters if your feelings for him make you irrational.”  
  
“That's rich coming from you,” his voice seemed harsher than he meant to, but it was pointless to say sorry now. And Kirk was tired of saying sorry even when no one deserved his kindness.  
  
“But okay, you’ve always been good at misunderstanding what others think or feel. Bye, we’ll talk about it again, with James.”  
  
The door slammed. The silence returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Danish, røvhul means arsehole.


	3. Chapter III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you disappointed?”  
> A stupid, yet frank question; there was no point to ask it now, since James’ feelings were already obvious, but Jason needed a plain truth through words, another good, banal reason to dislike him, to make his own departure meaningful.  
> “What I’m supposed to say?” James asked back, with a dry, annoying voice typical of his. “That I’m happy to know you lied to me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, here a longer chapter for you.  
> Mind the tag: homophobic content and very messy dialogues (but that's my fault lol)  
> I promise that I'll write something with James too, I described him like a complete arsehole in this, sorry.

The sun had hidden itself behind the last, few clouds left in the sky and a shy, milky moon was already there, peeking at the frenetic souls who were too busy with their jobs to look up at the starry dusk. They just continued with their tasks, with their futile chitchat, ignoring the purplish view that San Francisco’s horizon was giving to them. But a lonely man, sitting undecided in his car, was looking at the sky, seeking impossible answers between those silent stars.  
  
He was in a temporary daze from tiredness and his lids trembled, one, two, _countless times_ , on the verge of closing for half an hour, just long enough for a quick nap. He was tired, even if the day was coming to an end and he hadn’t been doing anything. He was tired of all that talking, of the eternal sense of expectation, as if something good could happen at this point. He didn’t believe in a last-minute change, yet, here he was, struggling with his inner voice, again and again.  
  
Always the same inner voice that was whispering to him now, in a vexatious and toxic way, that was telling him to leave them alone, to dump everything before getting too much involved. It wasn’t important anymore, _he wasn’t needed anymore_. And there were tons of other possibilities there, in the outside world, waiting for his ideas and creativity. They all deserved more and, as he already said, the band could survive even without him; he had accepted his subordinate role years ago, forgetting about it with his youthful hype; it was okay back then, playing in the band he loved, with someone he looked up to was everything he ever had asked for, but now times were different.  
  
_He was different, they were different._ The youngster Jason of the past faded away, replaced by a disillusioned version, yet more mature and less impetuous. It was a natural change, a logical event of his life, and he regretted nothing of what he had left behind. All his previous mistakes now meant something, they made him the man he was today and it was an indelible legacy he was proud of.  
  
  
But - there’s always a unwelcome _‘but’_ \- life wasn’t as much idyllic as someone pictured. The issue wasn’t exactly about his professional career nor money; he was disposed to that risk, to the possibility of never being as big as Metallica, to lose a part of profit outside the band. It was an acceptable compromise: creative freedom, right now, was more important than the cozy, prosperous comfort zone he’d been living in since ages. But there was something, _someone_ , he was going to lose, not matter how much he tried to make things work, to be polite and patient; he cared about them, _them all_. Lars was an innate prima donna, but Jason couldn’t forget the nights spent together, murmuring and gossiping with Danish beers in their hands; he didn’t want to ignore his moments with James neither, the things he learned from him, beyond that tough-guy façade they both built to boost their ego. And even if they weren’t exactly affectionate with each other, that didn’t mean they didn’t care about their friendship.  
  
15 years. _Fifteen fucking years_ of music, arguing, hangovers and vague conversations; of words he should have said and things he shouldn’t have done. That was life, after all.  
  
Then there was Kirk, with his geeky behaviours and that fathomless quietude of his; and Jason remembered every stupid, futile detail of the time he spent with him: from his tearful face when they had spoken about Cliff’s death for the first time - _only once_ , resting on a creaky bunk bed on tour somewhere in Europe, when Jason was still the new kid; to those accidental mornings, a little dizzy and tired, waking up into each other’s arms, listening to Kirk’s sleepy breathing against his skin. And that was probably the only thing that he hadn’t left in the past, even if it was still hard to describe what was going between them.  
  
Admiration, sure, but Jason could easily run down a list of things that were something more than simple, reciprocal respect. Because he always knew, even if a part of him still denied, that _“just friends”_ didn’t suck each other off nor did they feel a mutual romantic attraction. Yes, it was late, but only now he understood what really meant to lose all this.  
  
And that was why he was there, hands nervously clenched on the steering wheel, knowing that Lars, James - _someone_ \- was already there, waiting for him. He still thought that doing therapy together was a waste of time, but again, his inner voice, probably the most tolerant part, was telling him to try. To try for himself, for all the good memories they had in common or, at least, for Kirk that, with an unusual short message, had invited him to come.  
So, he left the automobile, closed quietly the car door and, in the same way, opened the one to the rear entrance, greeting by those unfamiliar walls, with posters and musical instruments all around.  
That was their new HQ, it seemed; the place where their music would be born again, even if none of them knew the how and when. And Jason couldn’t help but wonder if there was still a place for him in that picture, just some hope, a little possibility, to imagine himself in one of those rooms, sitting in front of a music stand and with the bass between his hands; as he’d already done back in the days, after all, so many times that it became his everyday life. And his mind began to roam around, in the past, losing itself in the memories of what they’ve been, remembering Lars’ cheerful voice in the studio, James’ stupid puns and Kirk’s shy touch, always in brief moments when the others couldn’t see him. In addition to the habitual, faint scent of tobacco and coffee, similar to what was filling his nostrils now.  
_But it wasn’t exactly the same. It could no longer be the same._

  
“Well, look who’s here.”  
A voice echoed within the walls, coming at him as an unexpected and almost violent blow.  
  
“Hi, James, how’s it doing?”  
_Did he really care?_ Probably not so much, but he couldn’t find something better to say, just a formal and useless talk. And that was normal, it worked like that between them now, but Jason wasn’t happy, not in the least, because there was a time when he’d considered James more than a mere bandmate - _a brother_ , and even the most quiet family sometimes argued, right?  
  
“Should I be the one to ask.” James replied, hands hidden in his pockets and a curious expression on his face; nothing too explicit, just a weird light in those eyes of his, the usual fleck that Jason had learnt to recognise perfectly.  
  
“Everything is fine,” he took a big breath, trying to pondering his words. “Is the therapist already here?”  
He didn’t even know his name nor his face; it was their choice alone and it was the first and the only occasion when Jason didn’t care to be excluded, didn’t care about what they had to say to him. Clearly they needed to resolve their problems, but a shrink wasn’t the best option, or at least, this was his opinion.  
  
“Yeah,” James murmured, looking for a moment back to the room behind him. A half-closed door was waiting for them, but when Jason made a step forward, he was stopped by James’ harsh voice again. “So what, you tag along as if nothing had happened?”  
  
“I’m here exactly because something happened.”  
_No shit_ , he might add, already slightly annoyed with his behaviour; there was nothing left to do with James, nothing to prevent another discussion and the truth was, childish as they both could be, that they would be at each other’s throats once they got in the room. This was only the gentle prelude.  
  
“Did Kirk give you a consolation prize to get you come here with us?”  
  
“He- _He did not-_ What the hell are you talking about now?”  
  
Only silence, followed by a sarcastic smirk that got under Jason’s skin, and he was trying, _really_ , to stay calm, but James knew him too well and also knew how to hit a nerve, as if it’d be amusing to see him angry. And that was strange, unusual, because James had an enormous ego, but he was relatively introvert, not a troublemaker. What a paradox.  
“Calm down,” James whispered, letting him free. “I was just wondering, you know, you give him a kind of preferential treatment.”  
  
“ _I don’t_ ,” He lied badly, followed by a high pitched squeal that betrayed him, but James seemed to not care at all. “But even so, are you jealous?”  
A brief laugh escaped from James’ mouth, he then pinched his noise, looking quite uncomfortable, and Jason could see it there, exactly in his irides, a hint of embarrassment, as if he was thinking about the right words to say.  
As a result, Jason could feel his own heart beating incredibly fast, followed by a ringing in his ears: paranoid kicked in again, trusted companion in these last few days.  
  
“It’s just...I might have heard things and I want to discuss about them now. Phil doesn’t need to know it, at least for now.”  
  
“Who the hell is Phil?”  
  
A gesture towards the door was enough and Jason replied with a banal sigh, too much distressed to worry about their meeting now; his priorities had changed and the aura of mystery that surrounded James was all but consoling. Questions just flew in his head without answers and the atmosphere was getting more and more heavy, enhanced by James’ nervous steps in the corridor.  
Was it necessary now? And, among many things, what was all the fuss about?  
  
“Listen,” James interrupted the silence, leaning lazily against the wall; he fixed his glasses on the nose and Jason mimicked his move, touching the frame with a trembling hand. “Are you and Kirk...” He didn’t speak, not a word nor a sigh, just a frown and a look, _a particular look_ , that said nothing and everything to Jason. A simple gaze to ask for a truth that he hadn’t the courage to question explicitly, and Jason didn’t know where all that discretion came from, but he just laughed in reply, laughed at how James seemed embarrassed by the idea of two of his band mates screwing with each other.  
  
He recognised that well, the faint glimpse of natural disgust mixed with delusion, yes, because everyone in the band knew James’ opinion about non-heterosexuality, and tolerating a behaviour like that in his own band was...different. It was different because he respected Kirk, as one of his eternal friend, and Jason too, beyond all their issues and problems.  
And Jason could read, feel what was going in his head: he was asking himself if all this made them less friends than before, if they still could be considerate men enough for their kind of music.  
  
“The world has always been like this, James,” Jason began to answer to his silent thoughts, finding a reply to all his internal questions. “We have always been like this.” He then add, more to himself than to the other. This was _the first time_ , the first talk about it with someone else, someone who wasn’t Kirk, of course; and the conversation left him with a bittersweet feeling, because he’d just admitted openly that yes, the relationship with Kirk was real, physically and emotionally, and he shouldn’t have been ashamed of himself, of what he’d been feeling for years. But probably a part of him was still hesitant, guilty for something he couldn’t quite catch yet.  
  
“Are you disappointed?”  
A stupid, yet frank question; there was no point to ask it now, since James’ feelings were already obvious, but Jason needed a plain truth through words, another good, banal reason to dislike him, to make his own departure meaningful.  
“What I’m supposed to say?” James asked back, with a dry, annoying voice typical of his. “That I’m happy to know you lied to me?”  
  
“I didn’t lie-“  
  
“You did and you still do. That’s your problem, you always have bullshit to hide.”  
  
“Ask yourself why we didn’t say anything.”  
It was a dirty game and Jason knew it; it was a dirty game because their silence wasn’t due to James’ homophobic jokes, they certainly hurt them, but nor Jason nor Kirk had really cared about them. Kirk even played with Lars for a while, causing a non-so-latent jealousy on Jason’s part and a more explicit bother from James. But that didn’t change the truth: they had maintained a caitiff silence because they both didn’t have the stomach to come out. It was easier, after all, to blame completely James for it; Jason knew, but it was the only thing he could do right now, the first thing his own instinct suggested him.  
  
“Don’t play the victim card with me, you’re too much of an asshole to care about what I think of you. And anyway, I don’t mind what you do in your bedroom. I’m-”  
  
“Then don’t ask, and I don’t tell.” Jason shrugged his shoulders, a little exasperated by the whole conversation. It could have been worse, but something was telling him that this was only the beginning. “That’s the rule, man.”  
  
“Which rule, guys?”  
A voice echoed within the wall, reaching them as soon as the door to the parking lot opened, revealing a couple of dark curls and a sheepish smile; he then pushed his sunglasses on the head and here he was, Kirk, with a quick look forward Jason to make sure that everything was going well. Their eyes met for a brief moment, but it was enough to make James sigh, a bit uneasy now that the relationship between them wasn’t a secret anymore.  
“Never mix beer with whiskey. It sucks.” Jason replied incredibly fast, even impressed with his own ability to find an excuse. He didn’t like to lie to Kirk, but that was the only thing he had in mind and it worked. Kirk just rolled his eyes, leaving them alone without a hint of suspicion.  
  
“God, you’re the one who sucks. That was awkward. Do you always lie to him so badly?”  
  
“Fuck off, James.”

  
* * *

  
The chaos started a few hours later, behind that same half-closed door that they shut completely, as if the world outside didn’t need to hear their wild arguments and irrational personal attacks.  
Phil, well, Phil Towle was an _okay guy_ \- Jason would say; he just sat there, with a funny jumper and thick eyeglasses that didn’t hide his professional, passive-intrusive gaze; he looked at everyone, didn’t miss any moves, any details of what they were saying, of how they were moving. And Jason felt intimidated by that calm personality of his, a paradox, considering that he wasn’t a bulky man nor explicitly aggressive. On the contrary, the weapon he was using was his own quietude, as one of those animals that waits for a moment of weakness from their prey. And, Jason noticed, there were a lot of weaknesses within those walls: resentment and anger, a latent sadness that was just there, silent, looming over them, filling the room with every kind of negative thoughts they shared.  
  
To be honest, things were going well at first; Lars’ sarcasm was still dormant, while James and Jason didn’t even speak, almost embarrassed by what they’d said to each other before. And it was obvious, there on James’ face, how he was still thinking about his bandmates, imagining in his mind pictures of them together sickeningly finding comfort in each other’s arms; but at the moment Jason was too much distracted by Phil’s erudite voice to care about him.  
  
Phil was the smarter one there, but he tried to be as friendly as possible, not an intellectual snob; it seemed that he’d already met the others before, probably just a couple of times, and the only one who’s feeling out of place was Jason that, with an aloof expression, was trying to find a distraction everywhere in the room, any thing to make himself less goofy and vulnerable.  
It wasn’t exactly the best option, but here he turned to again, in the most natural way, setting his eyes on the figure in front of him; Kirk was lying on the worn out sofa, a serious frown on his face while he was nervously biting his upper lips. He didn’t speak at all during the entire meeting, he just stayed there, sometimes looking at Lars beside him and other times, twiddling with his thumbs as if he was waiting for an exciting drama to burst among them. Only after a couple of minutes he stopped, looked up and caught Jason’s distracted face, returning his attention with a tender smile. Then he whispered something that Jason didn’t quite understand, words destined to vanish in the air, covered by the annoying murmur of Lars.

  
“And then, there’s Jason’s problem.”  
The drummer said, interrupting the soft and repetitive sound of Phil’s questions. And Jason didn’t like the accusing tone of Lars’ words at all, but here he was, ready for another discussion.  
  
“That’s not a problem for me. Ask him.”  
He looked towards James, grinning to damp the situation down. It didn’t help, contrariwise, the irony wasn’t particularly appreciated and James was annoyed with the umpteenth attempt by Jason to put the blame on someone else.  
  
“You know it already. We’re a band and a band does things together, what will people say?” The latter replied and Jason wondered since when he cared about others’ opinion, but then remembered James’ constant need of control, a limit that he couldn’t understand, among a lot of other flaws of his. “ _Yes, look, there’s Metallica: James, Lars, Kirk and...uh, the other guy._ ” He then added, mimicking a funny voice that made Lars chuckle. Only him, with his laughs reverberating in the silence.  
  
“Please,” Jason puff loudly, trying to restrain himself from raking over old issues. “Don’t get me started about this.” And he really meant it, dropping the conversation off was the best option for everyone, even if he had plenty of things to tell him. He could speak about the fact that being the _‘other guy’_ , even after so many years, wasn’t due to his desire for something new. He’d always gave 100% to the band, they knew it, _the fans knew it_ and he didn’t regret it a bit; however, their shitty behaviour wasn’t going to disappeared among the memories of the past. He wasn’t asking for a perfect relationship - _perfection was boring_ -, but being the bad guy here? Absolutely not.  
  
“Wait,” Phil interrupted, speaking gently to bring some common sense among them. “Since we’re here, you should speak about every unresolved issue. You need to clear the air if you want to see the solution. And even if it may seem hard to understand it at the beginning, yes, there’s _still_ a solution. We have to make it ourselves, no need to rush.”  
  
“But have we got the time?” James said sardonic, giving Jason a look, all but reassuring. “Or better, at this point, do we willing to work for it?”  
  
“A compromise is what we need here, guys.” _Finally_ \- Jason would say - a murmured help arrived, touching his ears as the sweetest sound he’d ever heard; a valuable opinion, rational, yet still sentimental because Kirk loved the band and what he’d just said was one of the many ways to show his care for it, for them.  
  
“No shit, Sherlock,” Lars add, strangely annoyed by Kirk. It was unusually because Jason had never seen them arguing - for what he could remember - and, in general, it was rare to have a discussion with Kirk. Not that he was always right, on the contrary, he knew how to be stubborn as much as the others, but quarrels weren’t his speciality. “We should listen to you, since you like to have a foot in both camps.”  
  
“You’re not trying at all, Lars.” Kirk pointed out his perennial nihilism, but something deeper was worrying him, Jason could feel it in his voice, in the way he started to shield himself on the sofa. That was typical of Kirk, but even if it was a familiar picture, his quiet display of displeasure was contagious for Jason. “And I say it again, it’s not me and Jason against you and James.”

  
“Well,” James step in, this time avoiding completely Jason’s face. “It’s obvious that Jason treats you...let’s say... _particularly fine_.”  
  
“What do you mean with that? We’re doing fine because we actually listen to each other, something that you sometimes forget to do.”  
  
“We all know how you _“listen to each other”_ , Kirk; not my thing, I’m not interested, thanks.”  
  
“Not now, James.” Lars whispered, hitting him with a crumpled paper and munching on some casual snack he found not so far from his seat. Jason should have be upset, but instead, he considered it hilarious, ironic because the embarrassment was getting more and more explicit and the fact that James cared more about his personal life than his music was the reason why the meeting was useless. And a part of him was already feeling sorry for Kirk, but at this point it didn’t matter what Phil did and didn’t know.  
  
“No, let’s talk about it, James,” Jason spoke and Kirk’s face turn a variety of different colours, scarlet red for shame, white for fear, or for any other emotion that he couldn’t hide anymore. “What’s the matter, does it affect your plan, your need to have everything under control? Or do you think less of me because of it?”  
  
“For all I care, I can escort you to Denmark and make you marry,” Lars intervened, gesturing nervously with a energy bar still in his hands. In another occasion, Jason would have considered that picture funny, but now there was no place for sarcasm or distracting remarks. “But don’t you dare say that this doesn’t make a difference in the band. For God’s sake, you want to leave, when were you going to tell us?”  
  
  
Not a reply nor a disillusioned sigh. _So Lars knew. He fucking knew._  
Jason barely turned and looked at Kirk, saying everything without even opening his mouth. It was all there, in his eyes, a silent _‘thanks, really’_ , a thanks for the wonderful trust, a thanks for respecting his privacy. But sarcasm aside, he didn't expect it from Kirk, not in a moment when he was getting eaten by a sense of deep indecision. He needed more time, but now it was useless, since Kirk decided to blab it out without telling him first.  
  
  
“It just happened, Jase, I didn't mean to-”  
  
“Are we going to address the fact that I'm the only one who didn't know anything of this or should I pass over one of your numberless lies again?”  
James interrupted Kirk, stealing the scene from him as usual, ignoring the annoyed expression painted on the guitarist's face.  
  
“Hello, the world doesn't revolve around you,” Jason thought, but those words weren't simply a voice in his head. He swore he could hear them resounding in the room, but his own lips were sealed, followed by his frowning forehead. He only noticed it after a couple of seconds, exactly there, in front of him.  
_Kirk had spoken, those were his words._  
  
  
“Excuse me.”  
Phil uttered, but his voice disappeared shortly after, crushed by the messy arguing of the others. And they kept on speaking, their voices overlapping with each other, accompanied by all the emotions they had bottled up until now in a unruly conversation that had no beginning and no end. They should restrain themselves – _all of them knew it well_ -, but it seemed that they were temporary discarding their adulthood, going back to a state of complete immaturity and irresponsible youthfulness.  
  
  
“You're focking all up for him. You're not a stupid teenager, come on.”  
“Lars is right, you know, at this point I'm quitting anyway.”  
“What a man, that's explain why you got all angry when I called you faggot in the past. Because you-are-one.”  
“Don't you dare saying it again in front of me, James.”  
“ _Or what_ , will you leave too, Kirk?”  
  
  
“Excuse me.”  
Phil coughed to draw their attention, fixing his glasses as if he'd just found a solution in front of his eyes, so clear in that dense haze of stupidity. He looked used to it, used to that kind of mess, stolid and unmoved by their irrational behaviours.  
_He is truly professional_ – Jason thought sarcastically, even if he didn't change his idea yet. Probably his inner voice was right, _going there_ – what a bad and naive move. But what could he do? What was done was done - James was the same and now Jason didn't even know how much he could trust Kirk. And he hated to suspect him, to question his integrity. After all, it must have been hard for him too, and the last thing Jason wanted was making him choose between their relationship and the band. A part of him knew already that he was going to lose, and that was okay, _he guessed._  
  
“There's more you have to resolve here,” Phil continued, always maintaining that quiet aura typical of him. “But you shouldn't overload yourself now. I want you to know that things won't fix themselves in a couple of hours. But for now, we should call it a day, you need rest.”  
  
Everyone agreed, even if no one – a part from Phil, of course – seemed satisfied by what had happened today. But Jason couldn't consider it completely a waste; he knew what he had to do now and the last doubts had gone forever, vanished and defeated by the new sense of complete delusion he was feeling.  
  
“Kirk,” He then whispered, so low that he feared that Kirk didn't hear the call, but, on the contrary, he turned to Jason, lowering his gaze and sighing as no other words were really needed.  
“I know, we need to talk.”  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually used the verb "marry", but in Denmark same-sex marriages weren't legal yet, but civil unions were a thing since 1989, what a great country! (I really hope to visit it again)
> 
> tumblr - @awesomeakimi


	4. Chapter IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If it makes a difference, I want you to know that I'm not ashamed.”
> 
> “Of what?” 
> 
> A faint scent of lemon lingered in the air and Jason just stood there, the cup of tea almost ready in his hand and a sincere confused expression painted on his face. He wasn't lying and Kirk hesitated a bit, now unsure if it was the right moment to say it and, most important, if the opinion was shared or not.
> 
> “ _Of us._ ” Then he gulped, finally feeling a little lighter. Yet, something was still trapping him and waiting for a possible reaction from Jason made him incredibly nervous. 
> 
> “You're important to me, even if I often don't say it out loud.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the final chapter, thanks for reading.

When Kirk arrived, Jason was already waiting him, leaning there, against the door of his own apartment, as a blurry silhouette under a plumbeous sky. Kirk couldn't even see his face from that distance, but he could feel his discontent nonetheless – an unbridled sense of dismay that, at the same, was lurking in his heart too. They should have been used to it – _or so he thought_ -, however, a new kind of fear was looming over them, something that they wouldn't overcome easily this time.  
  
And he couldn't help but lay his eyes on the road, _that_ road he drove so many times, that he knew in every detail, from the lights mirrored on the side walk to the faint scent of pastries and freshly cut grass. And he knew it well, he knew that this wasn't _his_ home, but it was familiar so much that it was natural for him to daydream a bit, only for a couple of innocent seconds, fantasizing about an alternative universe, a twisted _what if_ where none of this happened. No arguing, no delusions – only a sugar-coated mirage of them together, as a band, couple, _both_ , anything was good, it didn't really matter.  
  
But the truth was different and he was honest to himself now, enough to accept the bittersweet taste of their reality. Paradoxically, there was something ethereal in that view: Jason's immobile shadow, a vague expression behind the lenses of his glasses and, on the other side, Kirk was still observing him in the distance, protected by the warmth of the cockpit of his car. Getting out of it meant to catapult himself into the real world, to deal with a problem that he had to face, and even if he wasn't ready yet, he owed it to Jason.  
  
Not only to him, but to the figure reflected in the rear-view mirror too – a tired, distorted vision of himself, a man he couldn't recognise anymore, but there it was, his own face, worn out after a rough day of pointless discussions and gratuitous insults. And he really couldn't look himself a bit longer, seeing in his own eyes how he was getting eaten by a useless sense of distress that, since he got in the car, had been following him all the way home. So he tried naively to think about something, _anything_ , but he couldn't wash away the remorse, the repentance for what he had said and for what he _should had_ said.  
  
He found himself in a bitter, ironic situation, between the mallet and the anvil, yet he had been able to disappoint everyone, ending up with nothing more than resentment on one side and dispassion on the other.  
Lars and James were probably considering him some kind of cheap traitor, driven by his feelings and too much blind to understand the well-being of the band; and he could admit that he might have been too harsh, that he could have been more reasonable.  
However, James' insults were still lingering in the air and Kirk didn't even know why those words made him so mad. He was used to some narrow-minded behaviours from him, but this time...this time was different, though he couldn't understand why.  
It was obvious, at this point, that the relationship with Jason was no more a secret, or better, it hadn't _never_ been a secret; and James' words presumably had hit some nerve, since it wasn't a generic homophobic offend any more. James denigrated Jason for something that none of them could control, and that – for Kirk - was unacceptable, no matter how much they hated each other at the moment.  
They were all driven by anger, Kirk knew it, but despite that, it stung and hurt even more thinking that a part of James would never accepted it, _them_ , as if there was something sickening and abominable in _that_ kind of love.  
  
And then, there he was, Jason, still standing against the front door, and just watching him made Kirk sigh, fatalistic and discouraged, as if that could help to sweep away the last scraps of his disquietude.  
He knew that Jason was a reasonable person, that they were both adult enough to face a confrontation, yet a part of him was childishly hoping for a pure state of quietness, nowhere to be found; he was longing for a reassuring embrace, any kind of consolation, willing to pay it all back, doing his best to comfort the latter. Because he knew him well, Jason was a proud hot-head, but his stoic façade hid wounds, imperceptible scars from the past, and even if it was too late to do something for those, Kirk could at least soothe the fresh ones, lightening his own sense of guilt.  
He was culpable as much as the others and he couldn't forget that. _Jason –_ probably _– wouldn't forget that._  
  
At that point, he decided.  
He left his car, the brief _click_ of the door locking system echoed in the parking lot, followed by the light sound of his footsteps on the asphalt, and then on the stairs that brought him closer to the other.  
A whiff of wind made him wrap himself tightly in his jacket, hiding behind it as soon as everything became more clear. Only a few steps divided them, but Kirk could already feel Jason's gaze upon him – a couple of silent eyes that wandered across his face, observing every curls, every curved lashes, as if he had never seen something similar before.  
_That was ironic_ – Kirk thought – because, after all those years, there was nothing left to show him; Jason really saw him in every way possible, but he continued nonetheless, with an expression painted on his face that made Kirk remember when they were young: a sardonic light reflecting in his irides and there, on his lips, exactly the same hint of a smile that had made Kirk fall for him almost a decade before.  
And – he realised – _the more things changed, the more they stayed the same._  
  
“I thought you were going to fall asleep in your car.”  
  
Jason whispered, and Kirk looked away, a bit embarrassed by his obvious indecision, openly vulnerable in front of the latter. It had always been like that, but now their level of intimacy made him feel weak. Maybe Lars wasn't that wrong – _he was really feeling like a teenager._  
  
“I was thinking.”  
  
“I know, it's written all over your face.”  
  
_Hey, those are my words_ – Kirk thought, a sheepish smile appeared on his lips, but vanished as soon as Jason started to whisper again.  
  
“Do you want to stop over tonight?”  
  
He said timidly, and for a moment he seemed a different person, _completely_ different from what Kirk was used to, from what he had seen shortly before, during the meeting with the others. Shyness wasn't a common thing between them, but now Jason was wavering, as if it was outrageous to ask for a moment together.  
This wasn't their first time, there have been thousands of them, of nights spent alone, eating take-out food or falling asleep side by side. That was their relationship in short, _just their daily things_ , and Kirk liked it all, in addition to the frenetic life as a musician.  
  
“Well...” Kirk murmured, trying to restrain any obvious desire. He had an ego too, but for once, just for once, it would have been nice to feel wanted. “ _Do you?_ I mean, do you want me to stay?”  
  
“Come on, Kirk...”  
  
“No, I'm serious.”  
  
_Yes, he reaĺly was._ A part of him knew that it was a kind of childish behaviour, that he didn't need to test Jason's feelings, since he had always had low expectations for their relationship. But today, today was different; _it was now or never_ – as if their eternal postponing wasn't possible anymore.  
  
“Okay...” Jason finally took his keys, but shortly after it seemed that he was going to leave Kirk behind, slamming the door in his face. “I- _please_ , stay.” Nothing more than that, followed by a long moment of silence, watching each other as a couple of awkward teens.  
Actually, Kirk had plenty of things to say next, but he just bit his lips, stumbling over his words.  
“Good,” he gabbled, voice trembling more than expected. “Because I think I need it.” he added, not a great move, but it was too late to take it back.  
  
On his part, Jason replied with a confused look, a silent _“need of what?”,_ but didn't ask for more, avoiding to make Kirk feel more uncomfortable. And, to be honest, even he had no idea what he meant with that.  
Need of what: _Company, sex, love?_ Everything aforementioned? They weren't the smarter things to long to right now, but the past tension was already fading, almost forgotten when they got in the house, isolating themselves from the outside world.  
  
And here they were, at home.  
_Jason's home –_ with that peculiar scent already in his nostrils, an indescribable mix of different things that described...Jason, _just Jason._ Kirk could still feel a sense of deep familiarity within those walls, from the empty kitchen to the tidy living room, there, where they had slept countless times in the past, skin to skin, with the low humming from the TV in the background.  
_Jason's home_ – the tinkling sound of keys resounded and while Jason was walking around, Kirk watched him timorously, as though he was an unwanted guest and didn't belong there anymore.  
Yet, Jason was behaving like always, like the good host he had always been and maybe – Kirk thought – maybe he didn't deserve all his formalities, not after what had happened in the same afternoon.  
But what could he say, at this point? He wasn't feeling sorry for saying the truth to Lars, even if Jason deserved to know it first. However, they all deserved it, since honesty shouldn't have been a privilege only between them.  
At the same time, Kirk couldn't bear easily the burden of James' last words. He didn't even had the time to reply, neither Jason, for that matter, and that was a good point to start a discussion. Or, at least, a shy attempt of it.  
  
“Jase,” His name escaped softly from Kirk's lips, not ashamed of how delicate his own voice sounded. “How are you feeling?” A banal question, yet not so innocuous now; he really meant it, probably for the first time since he knew him, and that reminded him what a mediocre listener he'd been for all these years.  
  
“Really?” Jason chuckled sardonic, opening a beer and crawling into the bottle as if his life depended on it. “What do you want me to say?”  
  
“The truth.”  
  
Not any kind, not necessarily a pleasant one, but the simple truth. Kirk knew that Jason didn't owe him anything, still, he couldn't deny what he felt for the latter anymore, what they _both_ felt for each other – not matter how embarrassing it was to admit.  
  
“James is a son of a bitch and we're two big, _no_ , enormous idiots.” Jason started to speak, stopping only to prepare what appeared to be a cup of hot water; and Kirk immediately felt flattered, humbled by the fact that Jason remembered every, little detail of what he liked, even without asking. “And Lars...Lars sometimes is such a double-crosser.”  
  
“If it makes a difference, I want you to know that I'm not ashamed.”  
  
“Of what?”  
  
A faint scent of lemon lingered in the air and Jason just stood there, the cup of tea almost ready in his hand and a sincere confused expression painted on his face. He wasn't lying and Kirk hesitated a bit, now unsure if it was the right moment to say it and, most important, if the opinion was shared or not.  
  
“ _Of us_.” Then he gulped, finally feeling a little lighter. Yet, something was still trapping him and waiting for a possible reaction from Jason made him incredibly nervous.  
  
“You're important to me, even if I often don't say it out loud.”  
  
“Please,” Jason replied, leaving the cup on the table, exactly on the centre, without getting closer as if he was trying to stay away from Kirk as much as possible. “Just don't.”  
  
“But why?” Kirk could recognise himself in his eyes, again in those apathetic irides of his, now with nothing similar to the passion, the ardour that they both were used to in the past. A past that now seemed so far from what they'd become, closer to a different version of themselves that had vanished in the vague mists of time.  
  
“Because you don't have to prove anything to me. I'm not making you choose.” Jason stood still with his mouth half-open, trying to find a good word to say next. “And if they're putting you under pressure, then just-”  
  
“They have no say. We're talking about us, Jason, what _you_ think is important right now.”  
  
Kirk really meant it, even if their thoughts were clearly influenced by James and Lars' opinions. They were friends, after all, before anything else, but they were all adults by now and their personal lives were separated from the history of the band.  
They knew how difficult it was, but Jason was in the habit of blaming always someone else and Kirk understood him, he really did, James' words were unfair without doubt, Lars had never been exactly the most patient person on earth, but they couldn't be guilty for all their problems.  
  
“Metallica is far more important, that's what I think.” He took a long sip of beer for one, two seconds, and beyond, while Kirk didn't know how to reply and just stood there, watching his own reflection in his steaming tea. “That's what you're thinking too and I don't blame you for it, Kirk. It's okay, I'm okay.”  
_But was he though? -_ Kirk couldn't help but wonder, asking himself if this was what remained for them: nothing more than a disillusioned reality and mixed emotions. Then he looked up, seeing an unimpressed expression on Jason's face, until a little smirk appeared on his lips, as if he learnt how to read Kirk's thoughts.  
  
“Oh my, you've always been able to mess with my head.”  
It sounded like an insult, but Jason said it while smiling, sardonically as usual, and a new light brightened his eyes, now tinged with deep-indigo sarcasm. And with that, Kirk felt young again, feeling like they had just gone back in time, in those days when they were no more than acquaintances, but they had already hit it off with each other.  
  
“Well, that's probably one of my many talents.” He whispered softly, tucking an unruled curl behind his ear; in reply, Jason just chuckled, but a hint of seriousness was hiding in his laugh, as if he could sincerely agree with Kirk's joke. “You shouldn't laugh at my words. By the way, weren't you mad at me?”  
  
“I were.” Jason murmured, but the goofy expression on his face was already betrayed him and, this time, Kirk was the one that couldn't restrain a laugh, amused by his attempt to look angry. “I should be mad, and that's the problem. I think Lars is right about us.”  
  
Kirk couldn't understand what he exactly meant, but that didn't sound as a good sign. Lars was often stubborn, a perfect narcissist and God knew what else, but rarely Jason admitted that he was right about something.  
  
“ _He's not._ ”  
  
He then replied tiredly, almost exasperated by the issue that had been going on for weeks that never seemed to end. He remembered well what Lars had told him days ago, about being biased and irrational, yet, something wasn't quite right. He didn't feel like that at all, he was just doing what was good for everyone, both for the band and their friendship. And as he had already said, Lars wasn't in the position to criticise him, not after his numberless outbursts of wrath.  
_If somebody was being irrational among them, that somebody was Lars_ – He thought without doubts.  
  
“We both know,” Jason began to whisper again as if someone, somewhere, could listen their conversation through the walls; he then flopped down in the chair closer to the latter, unsure about his next words. “It won't last long.”  
  
From that moment on, right then, a part of Kirk began to hate him, his weak will and the way he was easily giving up, as if nothing between them didn't really matter. He hated how he could see the uncertainty in his eyes and every detail on his face, now that he bothered to come closer. So close that Kirk could feel his breath, exactly there, against his own skin, like all those times when they had played side by side on stage, had kissed, had had sex.  
And he couldn't help but laugh, smirk bitterly, because never before he felt like this for Jason – torn between seriously punching him in the face, or throwing himself at him, not giving a damn about being a responsible adult.  
There was plenty of time for that, but they couldn't say likewise for their relationship, did they?  
  
  
“Actually, what's between us...” Kirk murmured softly and stretched his hand out on the table, just for an instant, unsure and almost fearful of doing something inappropriate. “Well, it lasted longer than I expected.” He then added, but when he tried to withdraw, Jason had already stopped him, interlacing their fingers together, caressing lightly his palm.  
With that, Kirk felt like an idiot again - trapped in an infinite loop - because, albeit banal, the touch came after weeks of coldness and forced formalities. And it was obvious now, so explicit, how much he had missed their intimacy, followed by all those small, trivial things they had shared under this roof – _as if...as if_ there had been a kind of established project between them, something going on that they didn't catch in time and probably was lost forever by now.  
  
“I'm sorry, you know.”  
  
The brief silence was broken by a mere whisper, almost inaudible, yet so warm against Kirk's cheeks, waking up his senses with a terrible déjà-vu. He didn't want to speak about the past anymore, about the things they should have done and what they could have avoided. It was useless, after all, getting eaten by remorse.  
_I don’t want to cry over spilt milk forever_ – that was what Jason had said, didn't he?  
  
“Hush now.”  
  
He panted against Jason’s lips, losing himself in his eyes. They were different now, the former state of delusion had disappeared from his irides, replaced by a new, growing desire that Kirk could recognise well. Again and again, as when they were younger, he could feel the same lust, the same craving, yet watered down with a perennial feeling of tiredness and maturity that made them atypical, but not less enamoured of each other.  
And that was an unquestionable truth: they were going forward to an unknown destination, but Kirk knew already that, despite everything, he wouldn’t forget this night easily.  
  
  
So the first kiss of the day came soon after, abruptly, followed by many others - a stream of all the emotions that they had bottled up for weeks, now poured in every touch, in every mere contact they were sharing. An inner voice was telling him to be better than this, better than the irrationality that Lars had pointed out, but that thought vanished as soon as Jason’s hands were on him, wandering all over his body with tamed curiosity.  
Something was still restraining them, although Kirk couldn’t quite understand what - probably an undertone of puerile insecurity that wasn’t going to leave them, but they continued anyway, silencing those last doubts with deep, deeper kisses.  
  
Kirk tasted Jason’s lips slowly, wrinkling his noise as soon as the unusual mix of black tea and beer kicked in, moistening his own mouth. Not particularly pleasant, but they had experienced worse, back in the days when weed and sweat were ordinary things after a show. And now, as then, it didn’t matter at all for him, too much busy with his own rampant heartbeat, trying miserably to follow Jason’s pulse.  
_Passionate, yet calm_ \- Jason stood still, his hands grasped Kirk’s hips and there they stopped, sneaking quietly under the fabric of his shirt. In reply, only a thin puff, biting his lower lip as soon as he felt a couple of cold fingertips along his skin.  
The same fingers that Kirk had seen so many times holding a bass guitar, playing with every chords, clutching a pick with such vigour. He could still imagine it, that peculiar sound, a bit shaky and thick, so similar to Jason’s voice in their quiet moments of intimacy.  
  
“Kirk,” a low murmur reverberated, spreading slowly in the room. “About what you said earlier, me being important to you. I just...you should know that I feel the same.” Again, the words echoed within the walls, in their heads; only then, Kirk came back to reality and snuggled lazily against Jason’s shoulder, hiding his face behind his curls.  
A fruity smell filled his nostrils and he couldn’t help but smile, sheepishly and almost embarrassed, because Jason’s scent was similar, no, _identical_ to his - as another explicit hint of what they had become -, but here they were, whining for something neglected for long, for too long.  
  
“I know,” he whispered, kicking the chair away to sit gently on his lap. “I know it already, Jase.” _And I’m sorry for doubting you_ \- he would’ve added, however those words were nothing more than a thought, almost there, in his mouth, but silence was the only thing he longed for now. Jason quietly agreed, knowing that Kirk felt sorry as much as he did, and showed his mutual comprehension just with a hug, wrapping his arms around him.  
Kirk smiled back, laid a couple of lazy kisses against his neck and smiled again, getting used to that soothing warmth, to the way Jason’s chest moved with every breath. A sense of quietness that he missed and that, at the same time, made him feel quite melancholic.  
  
  
“Since you’re so good at reading my mind,” Jason whispered, tracing his thumb against Kirk’s cheek till the little skin mole under his eye. “You know what we’re doing next, right?” The typical, ironic smile of his appeared again on his lips and Kirk giggled, asking himself if this night would really be their last together.  
  
“I suck you off first, then I’ll want to see how much energy you’ve got left.”  
  
Maybe Lars was right - _he felt like a teen sometimes_ \- but did he care?  
  
“Bad move, Hammett, don’t dare me like that.”  
  
Maybe James was right too, after all - _Jason really treated him well_ \- but was it a bad thing?  
  
Well, he didn’t know anymore.  
  

 

* * *

  
  
The dawn came with its quiet light, accompanied by the typical bitterness of _the day after_. All the wild, lustful emotions of the previous night had slowly vanished, dissipated among the messy sheets and duvet, under which Kirk and Jason were still hiding, shielding themselves from the crispy air of the early hours of the morning.  
Waking up, the adrenaline and the former excitement had left their bodies and now, rubbing lazily his eyes, Kirk felt only a sense of unusual lightness and that state of quietude he had long been searching for.  
Under him, Jason was still asleep, his eyelids trembled feebly as if he was ready to wake up, but something stronger was holding him in a dream. _Or a nightmare -_ Kirk couldn't know, however, he continued to look at him, almost holding his breath for fear of waking him up abruptly, and noticed every little, usually unseen detail of his.  
A bit of thin, reddish facial hair along his jaw, his half-closed lips and his Adam's apple sticking out. Moving on, Kirk drew the outline of his skin with a finger, from his collarbone and further, creeping across every inch of his body till his nipples.  
There he stopped, opened his palm against Jason's chest, feeling how it was heaving calmly – the sound of his quiet breathing echoed in the room and in Kirk's head, almost lulling him to sleep again.  
  
_Jason's heartbeat in his ears –_ an explicit proof that yes, they were alive, next to each other, and the vivid memory of the night before came back in his mind, making him blush a little, as if this was the first time they had sex together.  
_Jason's heartbeat in his ears_ – that now reminded him that he couldn't stay there longer, even if he'd spend the day curled up against the latter. But with each passing moment, his uncertainty grew and all the past doubts were ready to return, crawling on the bed, under skin, making him feel hopeless again.  
_Jason's heartbeat rang in his ears_ – however, this time, he ignored it, telling himself that leaving was the best choice he could make.  
  
So he moved slowly, sneaked out the bed, looking for his clothes, scattered everywhere in the room: his shirt was hiding near the TV, while his pants were nowhere to be found, probably lost under the bed or forgotten on the stairs.  
  _Never mind_ – he thought, opening one of the dresser's drawers where he was sure to find some spare clothes.  
And there it was, his personal space, where a tidy pile of extra clothes was waiting for him.  
_Just his_ – no one else's; a little part of him in Jason's house, a part exactly dedicated to him, telling him silently that he belonged there, even if now he was trying to escape almost without saying goodbye.  
And now, obviously, he began to feel conflicted – only an asshole would leave without saying anything but, at the same time, he really couldn't face Jason right now, making breakfast or talking to him as if nothing happened before.  
He was embarrassed, embarrassed of himself, because he loved doing sex with him – he really did – but it wasn't what they had planned after the meeting.  
They talked, they surely did, but making love after wasn't the best way to say _“this is the end, we'll get over it.”_  
  
_Metallica was far more important_ – yet here he was, overthinking, cursing himself for falling for it again and again, as if being called irrational once wasn't enough. Despite through all this, his feelings for him didn't magically disappeared in a night; they were still there, still lurking in his heart.  
And now he was overwhelmed by old memories, past moments in common with Jason; futile trifles with no particular meaning, but a miserable part of him had always had a soft spot for their trivial, little things.  
Scraps of kindness that Jason had always dedicated to him, the night before too, even if they weren't kids anymore, and all the courtesy and the courting became useless by now.  
However, Jason didn't stop – _oh, he absolutely didn't –_ and Kirk could still feel the heat of their bodies, along with Jason's fingers across his skin; the mere memory of it made him feel agog, burying his head in his hands as if it could be enough to sweep away his state of hesitation.  
  
  
After a long silence – when nothing echoed in the room besides their shallow breathing - something changed, and Kirk closed his eyes as soon as he heard the bed creaking behind him. He stood still, just sitting on the floor, with a now messy stack of clothes in his hands, wishing immaturely to disappear exactly there, under those layers of shirts and casual pants.  
However, after that, here they came, warm and gentle exactly as he remembered, a couple of fingers through his hair, behind him, down towards his flushed cheeks.  
  
_Ask me to leave_ – Kirk thought, yielding easily to that tenderness again. _Or better, kick me out._ \- He then added to himself, preferring a harsh goodbye instead of a bittersweet farewell.  
But then, with his chin up, he finally saw it – a spark of melancholy on Jason's slumberous face, with those blue eyes of his that, now, unexpectedly, seemed almost weepy.  
  
“Hey,” Jason spoke first, with his raspy, morning voice that tickled Kirk's ears as usual. “Are you leaving already?” A glimpse of insecurity followed and for a moment, _a brief moment_ , Kirk could feel his own hands tremble, desirous of holding him again – _just for another night._  
  
“Oh God,” said Kirk in reply, while his pupils were dilating in surprise. “Are you crying?” His muscles contracted a little, unsure of what doing next; he wasn't sure if what he was seeing was real, if those were really tears or just some strange play of light across Jason's skin.  
He didn't even remember if he had ever seen him crying, when or why – and this sudden epiphany gave him a striking sense of sorrow.  
Ah, he probably had never felt so stupid before.  
  
“What?” An alarmed squeak escaped from Jason's mouth, getting suddenly defensive. “No, I'm just tired, I guess.”  
  
“Sure?” Kirk pursed his lips a little, searching a hint of indecision in his eyes again.  
  
“I should be asking you that.” The other avoided the question as usual, starting to caress his cheek again, as to make sure that everything was doing okay. “You look...scared.”  
  
“Probably I am,” Kirk whispered almost annoyed because, as in many other occasions, he wasn't trying to hide himself from the latter; he was being honest, accepting that sense of vulnerability in front of him, but Jason – _no_ , Jason was still the same, still too obstinate to reveal his weaknesses.  
At this point, he wasn't even sure if that was habitual stubbornness or mistrust – maybe Jason didn't feel safe with him, _maybe not anymore;_ and nothing could have prevented their slow decay.  
  
“Don't expect me to kick you out, Kirk, I won't, _I can't._ ”  
That was the opposite of what he wanted to heard, but a part of him was childishly happy about it, content to know that the doubts hadn't disappeared, not for himself nor for Jason.  
It was a difficult situation, however, they were sharing an unusual sense of consolation, lightening each other the burden that was still following them around.  
It was pleasant, _that mutual sympathy_ –, yet, Kirk had to choose – at least for today -, he knew that postponing again wasn't the right thing to do.  
Jason deserved to be free, that was what he was asking for, after all.  
  
“You make me feel at home here, you know,” - _and we'll have plenty of time to spend together, even if I still don't know when we'll meet again_ – He would've added, but those words just vanished in his head, replaced by a more reasonable thought.  
  
“But for now, take care of yourself.”  
Jason finished his sentence with a whisper, just a shy murmur against his lips and, like many other times, Kirk felt in love with him all over again.


End file.
